badhearted boytrap
by organizedcure
Summary: you don't love me at all, but don't think that it bothers me at all. you're a badhearted boytrap, babydoll, but you're...you're so damn hot. axelroxas. featuring zexion.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but my thoughts. Characters and related material are the property of Disney/Square Enix. Forever. :(

**A/N**: So, I wrote this last October in a blue Five-star notebook while watching Flyleaf's "I'm So Sick" and Marie Antoinette(the old TCM version, of course, cause I'm old-school like that!) and I've been meaning to upload it, but I felt it needed to be revamped, but not completely since I kinda liked what I wrote. "Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles!" I tried using (obvious) figurative language. Imagery and symbolism and alliterations. Maybe an oxymoron or two. Unedited and hopefully won't need to be, here's **Bad-Hearted Boy ****Trap**(_**Bitch-Slapped Sick**_).

* * *

"I'm so sick of this", Axel sneered out, disgusted, hurt, at the sight of a certain blonde. Roxas seemed so **s e d u c t ****i**** v e**, smiling and biting his lip as if he _actually_ had to ponder what to tell the nobody standing opposite him. Of course he'd agree to the proposition, because he was doing nothing that night. And analyzing that sentence; he or Roxas was doing, or rather _fucking_, nothing. And that nothing, that nobody was the one and only, scarred Axel. Axel was fucking tired of Roxas treating him like a nonexistent piece of shit, whilst in contradiction, Roxas was his everything. It may sound fucking cliché, but Axel knew, if Roxas considered him dead, he'd was better off deceased as well. Watching the current scene seemed to hurt him physically. His vision blurred and his breathing hitched. He wasn't really pissed at Zexion. He knew better. Roxas can be a spiteful bitch at times. Why this affected him so, he might never find out. Love? He scoffed. The spark of jealousy enraged him, though. But he knew he could never hurt Roxas. He'd only hurt himself, because fucking Roxas is _invincible_.

So he leaves. Him and his coat void of light and his flames and his vermilion "chinga la vista" hair, gone. Whatever Demyx meant by that, he'll never find out either.

Roxas noticed a familiar burst of red exiting the pearlescent pristine chamber. His eyes lingered on Axel's exit for only a second then went back to number's charming ones. Zexion's tone and color palette screamed monotonous radiance, but under those dull-colored orbs laid anything-but-boring **orgasms** and g a s p s and _thrusts_. Smirking, he lifted a gloved hand and tugged a loose strand of Zexion's (_goddamn_)fuckable indigo-flavored hair out of his even-more-so greyer eyes. Roxas let his hand trace the wonderfully smooth jaw line that is Zexion and linger under the man's chin, holding it in place. He licked his lips and uttered a dismissal. Relishing in the schemer's lovely departure, Roxas shakes his head and alters the locks of gold shine so that the remnants of dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes, just the way Axel liked it.

Finding Axel was easy. Roxas could find anyone. Part of his element. Axel would sulk in the dingiest and darkest of places until someone came to look for him. That someone shifting between Larxene, Demyx, or Roxas; no one else gave a shit, or were hoping he'd disappear. Roxas turned on the corner of the ever-familiar Memory's Skyscraper, looking up at the ashen clouds and the nacreous Kingdom Hearts.

Axel's entire body was singed. His muscles beginning to ache; the side effects of a multitude of Neoshadows and the occasional frenzy of Nobodies. He staggered back, abdicating himself against a cold metal wall, falling to the graces of the heartless galore. Droplets of condensation pelted his hooded coat, not daring to touch his pallid, bleeding face.

And Roxas saw Axel's denouement. Now gripping the edges of Memory's Skyscraper, he didn't remember clinging to; he clutched his fists and felt the blunt, raw metal hand of Oathkeeper and Oblivion materialize into his palms.

"_**Fuck**__."_

Slashing down on the few heartless, more worried about getting to Axel then focusing on fighting, Roxas took off in the direction of the cloaked figure.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Ax?" Roxas yelled urgently, letting the keyblades dissolve from his hands, no longer utilizing them. He kneeled besides the older nobody, ersatz tears forming in his eyes, making his already surreal presence harsh to look at with now glistening orbs. Axel screamed internally, yelling words like _prick_ and slut and **fuck you asshole**. His radioactive viridian eyes bore into Roxas' incandescent ultramarine ones. Roxas pulled one leg over Axel's, and sat kneeling over him. Weighing as much as a teardrop, he posed no threat to Axel's condition. With his gloved hand and the help of the spattering rain, he smeared Axel's face clean of blood, save for his lips.

Axel winced paradoxically at the monstrous tenderness with which Roxas tended his wounds, pressing his lips to each of the red head's burning abrasions. Axel's own lips twitched with jealousy, and this the younger noticed. With a feral hunger and a panting rhythm, Roxas kissed Axel hard and defiant of bruising.

And for the first fucking time, Axel didn't kiss Roxas back. He was tired and sick and regretted ever letting Roxas own him like a _little bitch_. Rejecting Roxas was everything he wasn't. And he fell. Far and hard and fast and it hurt. Turning his head, which Roxas held by the back of his hood, he unleashed a wicked sight of crimson spikes and daggers. The rain now stung his cheeks and caressed the locks of his blood-stained hair.

Roxas wasn't bothered by the fact he was kissing a shock of hair and neck and sweat. The smell enticed him to continue his ministrations. Ash and sex and dominance and rain infused his senses. He was enjoying this; Axel's rejection was failing. He felt his symbolic struggle physically **petrify** through the darkness of Axel's slippery cloak. Hands reached out to feel the curves of his slender body and thumbs massaged unknown shapes onto the leathery fabric. And that was his cue. Roxas pulled back from the darken bits of skin yearning for punishment, kissed Axel's lips slightly, opening his own and smirked. Roxas knew Axel's stubborn escape mechanism would be overcome by his strings-attached desire, because Axel always came back for more, no matter how hard he was pushed away each time.


End file.
